


calc

by rexflame



Category: Inazuma Eleven, Inazuma Eleven GO
Genre: M/M, this actually hurt to write wtf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-09 01:12:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1963353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexflame/pseuds/rexflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he didn't ask for this; he didn't want it to end like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	calc

**Author's Note:**

> i got this idea at like 2am and i've been writing it all day  
> unedited like usual  
> i could probably make a better summary but?? im lazy. hopefully you can get whats going on from the fic owo b  
> it's honestly? rather ooc. i'm going to rewrite it, later on hopefully, as the flow is also kind of choppy  
> also i haven't finished the original inazuma yet. i've finished the original go though, because, i am trash  
> okay i'm rambling but!!! enjoy!!!

Their relationship hadn’t lasted long.

Contrary to everyone’s belief that they would be perfect together, that they would be one of those married highschool sweethearts, it didn’t work. He wasn’t sure why, really. He’d tried so hard to make everything perfect, and the harder he tried, the more his redheaded boyfriend seemed to drift away from him.

“Let’s break up.”

“What?”

His voice had cracked on that day, when the words had been proposed to him. He had to be joking. There was no way… there was no way that he, Hiroto, Gran, the person he’d been through so much with, would just-

“You heard me.”

He wasn’t sure what had felt worse; the idea of being without the older boy, or the fact that Hiroto’s voice didn’t sound sad. It sounded almost apologetic, as if the whole situation wouldn’t have bothered him if it hadn’t been for Midorikawa.

“Why?”

His hands had clenched into tight fists, then, fingernails cutting into his palm as he looked up to meet Hiroto’s green gaze.

“It’s just not right. I’m sorry, Midorikawa.”

There was the barest of twitches; Hiroto bit his lip and looked away from his dark gaze.

“What’s wrong about it?”

He hated the demanding tone, the anger in his own voice, the desperation in his own voice.

“I’m sorry. It’s just not going to work out.”

He wasn’t even facing him now.

“Fine!”

The word tasted bitter; his green hair swung behind him as he shook his head, eyelids closing.

“Then go away!”

He wasn’t sure when he began to cry after the redhead left the room, or when he ended up sitting down, or when his fingers cut gashes into his palms. But he knew the exact time that he took out his phone, he knew exactly when he nearly deleted Hiroto’s number, and then shut the phone and cried again.

The next day, when he had checked his phone, he had had 4 new messages from Hiroto.

He deleted them all.

People all told him the same thing; he was a teenager, it was just a small thing, he’d get over it. And he did, with time. It was still hard, he still loved Hiroto for a long while (how could he not after how close they’d been and how much they’d gone through together?)  But it took time. By the time he’d graduated, he wasn’t pining after him as much. There was only a cold tension between them now.

And, of course, he’d deleted Hiroto’s number.

Then he was nineteen, playing some league soccer, trying to forget everything from fleeting relationships to the entire Aliea incident. A normal day, a normal night, and at exactly 5:03 PM he got a phone call from an unrecognizable number with no caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Midorikawa!”

The voice was instantly recognizable, even though it had dropped in timbre. He nearly dropped the phone, but instead took a shaky breath and recollected himself.

“Kiyama.”

“It’s Kira now, actually. But you can still call me Hiroto.”

“Kira.”

A pause.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to be my secretary.”

“Me?”

After two years of no contact, he just called him up, so casually, and offered like this? He wanted to scream.

“There’s more to it than that; I can’t tell you over the phone. I’ll text you my new address. Come if you’re interested.”

Of course he went, of course he did; he never could resist anything Hiroto told him.

“I’m sorry.”

Those were the first words out of the redhead’s mouth, the redhead who had glasses now, Midorikawa noted.

“It’s all behind us now,” Midorikawa replied with a wave of his hand.

“’What’s done is done’ and all that, yeah?”

A grin spread on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m glad.”

A warmer smile spread on Hiroto’s face, that smile that he had loved, and it made the smile on his own face a little more real.

“So, let’s get started…”

Their conversation was long, and lasted for nearly five hours. He was surprised Hiroto’s voice didn’t give out during the time, but his voice rambled on familiarly like always.

“…do you understand what I’m asking of you?”

“Yes.”

His voice was more serious than normal, he realized.

“You can say no. It’s alright.”

“I’ll be the one to help you.”

Damn right. He wasn’t going to let someone else take this spot right next to Hiroto.

“Glad to have you back, then.”

“Likewise.”

That was that, all was said and done, no catching up or wondering how things had gone. When he left the house, he stood outside the front door for a few minutes, staring up into the sky and wondering, still, where he’d gone wrong.

Eventually, he got his answer, at a time when he finally dared broach the subject oh-so-many years later.

 

“[text]Midorikawa: hiroto, what did I do wrong?

[text] Hiroto: you don’t need to try so hard

[text]Hiroto: you try so hard you forget yourself

[text] Hiroto: I can’t stay at the side of that you”

 


End file.
